


ruin

by The Master of the Deck (officiumdefunctorum)



Series: on wednesdays we whump [8]
Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Bonds, Dissociation, Gen, Panic Attacks, Post-AMoL, Unreliable Narrator, We Die Like Men, Whump, on wednesdays we whump, past self-harm, unbeta’d
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:29:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25154740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/officiumdefunctorum/pseuds/The%20Master%20of%20the%20Deck
Summary: The price of peace is not Rand's alone to pay.
Series: on wednesdays we whump [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1661389
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11





	ruin

**Author's Note:**

> a direct continuation from the events in ["a house for pain"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23031673). takes place before [lighter than a feather](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24344410).
> 
> \--
> 
> (Created as part of the "On Wednesdays We Whump" for Ta'veren Trash discord. Invite at the end!)

The waves crashed, and the ocean roared, and sometimes it was enough to drown out the noise in Rand's head.

That the bond felt like noise—something that had meant so much to him, that had brought him comfort in what had been the darkest hours of being The Dragon Reborn—made Rand feel like a coward.

Perhaps he was one.

In another life, that bond had meant an acceptance of him. Even as he’d doubted it, as the idea had terrified him, that it had been offered and _wanted_ had made him feel human. He could not stop Elayne, Min, and Aviendha from loving him, as he could not stop loving them. Had he not wanted it, too? Vulnerability was their price, and he had paid it.

Now it clawed at his mind, as his must be clawing at theirs. He couldn’t block the bond, and Light, how he’d tried. Perhaps it was Moridin’s body, an effect of the ability to channel saidin being burned from it. Maybe it was his strange new power. Maybe he had spent all of his strength and will at Shayol Ghul, and now he had nothing left.

Light, but he just wanted _peace_.

Sitting atop one of the cliffs of World's End in Saldaea, Rand listened to the roar of the ocean below, and tried not to think about the near constant flow of worry and anxiety from the three strands of the bond in his head. It hadn't stopped since he'd— _hurt_ himself.

The limb throbbed, and Rand looked down at his arm, dispassionate as he observed the collection of ugly slashes and cuts. Some had scabbed over, but most were beginning to swell; red at the edges, tender and hot to the touch. It _should_ bother him, but it didn’t. He'd not tended to the cuts beyond a simple bandage, at first, hoping for the pain to ground him as it had before. To remind him that he was Rand al'Thor, that he had _not_ died, and that this body he was in was actually his own.

Skin tingling at the thought, Rand grit his teeth, pressing his fingers onto the wounds and feeling the flare of pain. As he did, an answering surge of anxiety lanced through the bond in his head—Elayne, he thought—and Rand felt like screaming in frustration. Light, but he couldn't _think_.

The ocean roared, but it felt so far away, unable to drown out the noise in his head, or the crawling in his flesh. Rand's hands shook, his body alight with tension, and he longed for the brief relief he'd felt after cutting away the odious blemish on his skin, though it shamed him to think of it.

Where was his peace? Why could he not let _go?_

In frustration, Rand gripped his wounded arm and squeezed it again, the rush of feeling pulling a gasp from his lungs, and for a blessed moment, there was only the pain.

A weaker, but no less urgent thread of worry and fear pulsed through the bond in his head—Min—and Rand nearly sobbed. No, he couldn't—not _now_. Nothing made sense, and the love he felt confused and terrified him as much as the flesh he now wore, like it too had become foreign. Light, but he needed silence, he needed to _be_ silent. Whatever terrible power he now held, Rand had no notion of how to wield it or even control it. If he should, or even _could_ use it. All his hard-won control over saidin meant nothing, and the bond in his head had been broken wide open since he had mutilated his arm two nights ago.

As his agitation grew, so too did the tide of emotion through the bond. The pain, which had helped him before, now only made things worse.

Eyes closed, Rand breathed through the feelings, through the rising panic. Had he not hurt those he loved enough?

It was too quiet on the cliffs, he needed the roar of the ocean. He _needed_ something, anything to make it _stop_.

In an instant, the distant noise of the sea became a cacophony, and the scent of salt and sand bloomed around him. Rand opened his eyes to see himself on the tideline far below, the roaring ocean mere steps away.

For a few moments, surprise, and the noise of the ocean consumed his mind. All around him was the crash of water on rocks, and even his pain, the crawling of his skin, subsided as he just— _listened_.

Spray dusted the front of Rand's body, and he breathed in the damp, salty air.

The power had done this, brought him down to the tide in an eyeblink, the whim of a thought, of his need. In those moments, Rand felt only an overwhelming gratitude, and perhaps his relief was enough to quiet the bond, as well.

Rand breathed, finally relaxing.

A sudden spike of pain shot through Rand's guts, and he gasped in surprise at the intensity of it. It was so strong, so _real_ , that he though he must have been stabbed. Hands flying to his middle, Rand looked and felt for a wound, but there was none. Confused, he looked around, but he saw no one, and could sense no channeling. Would he sense it, still?

Another lance of pain hit him, and this time Rand felt for what was happening. It was not coming _from_ him, but _to_ him. From the other side of the bond, this time.

The pain coalesced, the meaning finally making sense.

Elayne. Oh, Light, his _children_.

As the waves crashed on rocks and sand around him, Rand's mind grayed with alarm. The bond began to claw at him once more, anxiety and fear coming from Aviendha, as well. Further, the confusion from Min intensified, and Rand was lost in the morass of emotions, his own sympathetic pain and panic feeding into theirs, a churning avalanche of sensation and feeling.

The Light help him, but he was _hurting_ them, and he had no idea how to stop it. He had no control, he—he couldn’t _think_. Blood and ashes, _he_ had done this. Something was wrong with Elayne, with the children, and it was his fault.

Chest heaving, Rand gripped his head in both hands, trying in vain to quiet his mind, if not for himself, for them.

_The flame, the void. Let go, you fool. Remember the light._

He couldn't do it. Another wave of pain hit him, and he felt Elayne's scream in his own throat. A moment later, he _was_ screaming. He staggered forward, stumbling onto his knees in the surf, sharp rocks cutting into his knees and shins.

What could he do? How could he be a father, like this? How could he be a lover, a husband?

With the pain came a moment of clarity. A single thought, a cry for help from that deep place inside of him that he had neglected for so long.

Rand wanted to go _home_.

The last time he had felt this—this crisis, Tam had been there. Could he help now? Light, he needed his Da. He _needed_ to go home.

In an instant, the ocean vanished, and Rand was left on his knees. The scent of trees, of the earthen life that was the Two Rivers washed over him. The very air and feel of the grass beneath him were enough to dampen the maelstrom in his head. He knelt, and breathed, the salt of the water soaking his pants mixing with the smell of home.

Home. Light, but he was _home_.

Looking up, Rand felt the momentary peace inside of him shatter.

The farm was gone. Where he had expected to see his childhood home, the barn, the sheep pens... there was ruin, now overgrown with weeds and greenery. At some point, his home had burned, as had the barn. The blackened shell of walls and beams reached up through the growth like jagged, lonely headstones. The fencing around the perimeter of the farm was a shambles of bent posts and beams laid askew.

Rand's eyes stung with tears, with a visceral, childish hurt. He felt wretched, and foolish. In all that had happened, how could he have believed that his own home would go unscathed, waiting for his return? That it, too, would not have escaped the destruction of The Dragon Reborn?

The knife that was Elayne's pain wrenched in his guts, and he felt again the churning, the escalation his own grief and horror gave to the already volatile mix of emotions coming from the three women tied to him.

Groaning in frustration and agony, Rand felt a hollow rage come to life within him, feeding the hurricane that passed through his bond. Alarm came back to him—from Min, he thought, but Rand was lost.

Why should his home be gone? Why should it _not_ be here, after everything?

A ripple passed through the air, like the shimmer of heat in the Aiel waste—and the farmhouse was there, as if waiting. Intact. The same as it had been on the day the trollocs had attacked on Winternight, so long ago.

Briefly, Rand felt a wild elation—he had _done_ that—only to have it replaced by horror. Light, but he had warped the world, reality, with a thought.

As his enraged focus ebbed, so too did the shimmer, and again only the burnt husk of his home lay before him. Heart racing, breath coming in shallow pants, Rand looked around him, seeing that all was as it should be—or, at the least, as it was. Ruins.

 _Ruins_.

Was that all that remained of the life he had once lived? Was that all that he could bring, now, to the people he loved?

Gray touched the edges of Rand's vision, the panic in his mind now shared between all four of them. As a landslide swept away all before it, so had he subsumed the minds of his lovers. His hurt was now theirs.

_Is this what you wanted from me? Is this the man you loved?_

There was no peace, here. There was no peace, because Rand had none within himself. It was only chaos; a madness all his own.

He _was_ ruin.

_My home is gone—my mind rots and my body is a stranger. A power I do not understand and cannot control. What man am I to be a lover, a husband, a father?_

What man, except one that would once again bring ruin to all he touched?

Rand had wanted to be free. To let go of his pain, and the life that had been sacrificed for the world. Now, he was drowning, and he was dragging them into the depths alongside him. Aviendha, Min, Elayne—they deserved better than what he could give them. Once, perhaps, he had been enough to meet this, but now there were no veins of gold, no voices out of darkness to guide him.

In this, as in so many other ways, he had failed.

As the moment crystalized, as his thoughts came to a single, devastating point, Rand's panic faded.

In his own mind, he could feel them, his lovers, but the feelings were finally muted. Far away. As he knelt there in the ruins of his father’s farm, Rand stood outside of himself, as he had done may times before. He examined his grief, his resignation. His regret, and shame.

Reaching out, he felt Elayne's pain, Aviendha's determination and fear, Min's desperation—like she knew. She had always known him best.

Sending what he hoped was a feeling of love, and apology, Rand breathed in—

_sheathing the sword_

—and out.

In the shocking stillness that followed, Rand stood, his body trembling and his mind adrift. It did not hurt, like he had heard happened with severed bonds. But he had not severed it—he had _erased_ it.

It was just gone. _They_ were gone. Inside his head, Rand was alone, as if he had never been bonded.

Around him, he heard he rustle of the wind in the grass, the chirping of birds in the warmth of the late afternoon. The distant croak of frogs from the pond near the copse of trees west of the farm.

But in his mind, there was nothing. Silence.

_The hush that follows devastation. Is this my peace?_

Rand breathed in a shaking breath and began to sob. Not for what he had lost, what he had destroyed, taken without permission, consent, or warning—but in _relief_. Hundreds of miles away, Elayne could be giving birth. Children of his once flesh and blood may even now be breathing their first breaths, and Rand could only weep for himself.

Guilt rose in his chest, but even that was not enough to make him wish for the bond, again. Light, what a wretched thing he was.

In the shadow of what had once been his home, Rand sat, and for a time, he cried. Black hair fell in front of his eyes, stuck to his damp face, and he brushed the unfamiliar locks away. When he had no more tears, he rose again to his feet, exhausted. He looked around once more at the remains of his childhood home. Seeing it now, after what he had done, he felt a kinship with the burnt and broken pieces surrounding him.

Like him, it was no longer a place of love, or safety. What joy or comfort it had brought was now in memory, alone. What it once was, it could never be again.

It was a ruin.

**Author's Note:**

> So, let's remember that Rand is the most unreliable of narrators. What Rand thinks and believes are usually very far from reality. This is because Rand is hella messed up, especially post-canon. Robert Jordan's wish-fulfillment aside, I am of the strong opinion that Rand was not in a head space to be any kind of boyfriend or husband to anybody. He needed friends, his dad, a well paid therapist, and small army of cuddle buddies. To say nothing of how I think the subject of Bonding in WoT is a minefield of consent and thought policing, I posited in [the things we lose](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22476325/chapters/53706925) that one of the first things the taint did was to skew Rand's perception of love and attraction. Diving headfirst into polyamory with no negotiation or emotional maturity was not The Thing To Do, and we were robbed of the Elayne/Aviendha ship, as well as a Min who could be a platonic life partner as well as a badass in her own right by subjecting them to Rand's general fucked-upedness.
> 
>  _I think that Elayne, Aviendha, and Min were wrong to demand that Rand bond them_. Oh, your boyfriend won't talk about his feelings? Let's fix that with magic. It worked out _so well_ for Perrin. If they wanted emotional availability that Rand was unable to give, they should have dumped his ass. Rand's resistance to letting people be with him is valid as hell, and I reject the idea that Rand not wanting to subject Elayne, Aviendha, and Min to the mindfuckery he experiences is somehow a violation of their autonomy. No means no.
> 
> Want to talk about it? Join the [Wheel of Time Trash discord](https://discord.gg/XUvCR2z) for shipping, fic, prompts, headcanons, smut, kinks, and general flailing about this stupid series that we all love for some reason.


End file.
